


Music and Pastry

by amazing_Hedgehog_girl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazing_Hedgehog_girl/pseuds/amazing_Hedgehog_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a horrible day and Sherlock tried to fix it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music and Pastry

John leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed the bridge of his nose, it had been a long day at the clinic. Too many people with maladies he couldn’t remedy and too many young mothers with babies they weren’t prepared for. Too many abuse victims stuttering cover stories. Too many addicts looking for a quick fix. To hell with the Holmes’ war, he thought bitterly. The real war was… less. There was less at stake, but somehow so much more.

He scrubbed his fingers through his close cropped hair and thudded into the living room. He was limping the way he always did when there was a knot in his chest and a feeling of helplessness wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. Sherlock stood at the window ripping atonal fragmented noted from his violin and the echoed through John’s skull like nails on a chalk board and the squeal of tires on asphalt. “Sherlock, please. Give it a rest.” at the sound of John’s voice, the detective turned slowly. Instrument still poised to continue against his shoulder until he took a moment to observe.

His blogger was slumped in his chair, one hand covering his face and the other, his left, trembling slightly in his lap. Every fiber of John’s being screamed hurt, hopelessness, and exhaustion. It screamed help me, please. Sherlock froze for a moment. It was frightening and infuriating and he couldn’t for the life of him say way. He nodded quietly to himself, the gears in his brain jerking back into motion and he scrambled for a way to fix it. He laid his violin aside carefully and walked back into the kitchen.

As quietly as possible, he started some tea and rustled around until he found the box of scones John had brought home from the market the day before. When the tea was ready he poured a mug and laid a few pastry out on a plate to carry into the living room. He took the mug and the plate and laid them on the table next to John’s chair. John jerked slightly at the sound of ceramic clinking and sat up to take in his surroundings again. His gaze finally fixed on the tea and he stared at it dully for a second before he picked up the mug and cradled it in his hands to take a sip and let the warmth ease the knot in his chest, “Thank you, Sherlock.” The detective just smiled and nodded slightly, some of his earlier nameless anxiety subsiding. He picked up his violin again and this time, began to play in earnest. The softest melody he could coax from the strings.


End file.
